A small gasp of surprise from the white-eyed girl made Jill want to scream. Dr Mercy Merris lay on the floor of the boatshed staring unseeingly at the window through which Jill peered. Blood pooled on a white concrete floor lit by a single overhead bulb. Probably she's been knocked out, probably she's going to be okay, she tried to reassure the white-eyed girl.

Jill determinedly ignored the cabbage-sized hole of an exit wound in the middle of Mercy's chest. There's definitely going to be a problem with her brother, thought Jamaal. The father he could talk around – Allah knew the father could manage his own women – but his wife's brother was going to be difficult. The last time his wife had got out of control, her brother had promised Jamaal he would kill him if he ever saw her bruised that way again. This time she was in Westmead Hospital with a fractured jaw. And his brother-in-law was no softcock. He'd done infantry training in Lebanon, he'd been shot twice in Sydney, and he had a lot of friends, inside and out of gaol. The brother was going to be a problem.

Jamaal knew where the blame lay, and he intended to make the bitch pay. His wife's questioning about why the cops had come to his home had been too much to bear after the interrogation that morning. He had a hard-on for Sergeant Jillian Jackson that would not go away until she was bleeding.

Now in the basement, Jamaal chewed on an antacid tablet and stared at Jerome. Just give me a fuckin' reason, his eyes told the boy. The kid didn't, showering and dressing in the small bathroom off the garage without saying another word.

Tadpole danced through the basement room, whipping himself up for the special party. He stopped mid- pirouette in the kitchen when he caught the look in Jamaal's eye.

'Coffee, Jamaal?' asked Tadpole uneasily.

Jamaal just chewed the tablet; the burning in his diaphragm remained.

'Mr Japan is going to love our little friend in there,' Tadpole continued. 'Let's just hope he doesn't love him too long 'cause Sebastian's promised me seconds.' There was a pause. 'Unless, of course, you wanted to play first, Jamaal? You found him, after all. Fair's fair.' He smiled ingratiatingly.

His face full of the acid in his gut, Jamaal left the room. I'll cut that fuckin' poofter's throat if I have to listen to any more, he thought. He'd take what he wanted when he was ready. Using the hidden stairwell, he made his way up to the house.

When the foundations had been laid for the harbourside mansion, the basement garage had been cut deep into the hill upon which it sat. There were no windows in the huge room, and it was undetectable from the outside of the property. The two entrances to the basement were also concealed, and neither was accessible unless one knew where to look. Sebastian had told him years ago that his father had bought the house in the sixties from some paranoid Jew. Along the back of the regular, above-ground, triple garage was a motorised fibro wall that slid sideways to reveal a truck-sized entry dropping to a short, sharply angled concrete tunnel. Jamaal had driven his van, with the kid in the back, down through this tunnel to the basement. A couple of other kids had made the same journey with him in the past. Enough room existed in the underground bunker to drive the van full-circle and exit back up the same way. Not many had made this journey back with him.

Tonight, however, Jamaal left the room through the second access door. He knew Sebastian did not like the door used when there were guests in the house, but it was after midnight and it was unlikely that anyone was still in the entry foyer. They'd bring the kid up to the main house this way soon. He climbed the steep wooden staircase in darkness, and pushed open the trapdoor that lay in the floor of the large coat cupboard in the lobby of the stately house. He leaned the trapdoor against the wall of the interior of the cupboard, careful to be silent, and climbed out of the hole in the floor. He stood upright and listened. He could hear nothing outside the cupboard. He cracked the door and, seeing no-one in the marble foyer, Jamaal slipped out and headed for the rear of the home.

Ten years ago, Jamaal had at first found it diverting to attempt to find the barely discernible handle in the cupboard that gave access to the basement room, but when the moments had ticked away, and Sebastian had laughed once too often, he'd lost patience. He would watch in admiration as Sebastian would instantly locate the recessed lever that lifted the trapdoor. Even after seeing it done several times, Jamaal would usually wait for Sebastian to open the door ahead of him.

As he made his way through the opulence of the house towards the lights and music in the ballroom, he looked down at his black jeans and jumper with satisfaction. Sebastian would be pissed that he was not wearing a suit. Sebastian's other minder, that cement-head wog, would be all decked out. Arse kisser. Jamaal's wife's 'accident' would serve as an excuse for not dressing properly. He enjoyed such small moments of power over his boss.

An air of expectancy filled the ballroom. Those invited knew they were a highly select group, and the ridiculous price they had paid as their entrance fee ramped up their expectations. Sebastian had promised them all a double delight. A live boy under fourteen. And a virgin. Jamaal could see the admiration in their faces as they drank and chatted in small groups – you have to hand it to Sebastian, he could imagine them saying; how does he do it?

It'sme, he wanted to scream at them all; I got the kid. You should all be kissing my feet, you cocksuckers.

Near the fireplace, where tonight a low fire provided cosy effect rather than real warmth, Sebastian stood looking particularly pleased. He leaned against the mantelpiece, immaculately groomed in a dark suit, speaking to his Japanese guests, a middle-aged millionaire and his elderly father, both predisposed to the same pleasures. He looked up when he saw Jamaal. The light left his eyes for just a moment when he took in Jamaal's clothes. Jamaal suppressed a smile as Sebastian beckoned him over.

'My very dear friend Jamaal. May I introduce you to Mr Smith and Mr Roberts?'

The Japanese men gave a slightly drunken giggle at their Anglo pseudonyms. They were looking forward to using these names with one another in the future when they wanted to recall the particular delights of this special evening.

Jamaal nodded and smiled at the men. Another tiny frown from Sebastian. Good. Jamaal knew he was supposed to bow to these guests, but he bowed to no-one.

'Mr Roberts, Mr Smith, please excuse me for a moment,' Sebastian said, bowing, giving Jamaal a sideways glance to emphasise that this was how to greet and leave these men. 'Jamaal and I must go and attend to the entertainment for the evening. Please make yourselves very comfortable. My home is your own. We will return shortly.'

Sebastian placed a big arm around Jamaal's shoulders, and, smiling affably, guided him from the room. They entered Sebastian's study, a luxurious, masculine room that overlooked the gardens on the left side of the property.

Sebastian dropped himself into one of his corpulent leather armchairs, and reached for a long cigar from a side table. Jamaal waited for the lecture. Sebastian just kept smiling, sending jets of blue smoke into the air.

'What?' Jamaal finally had to know.

'My friend, today has been a very good day.'

Jamaal could not have agreed less. He looked forward to telling this smiling bastard about the cops' questioning early today. Why should he be the only one with a burning gut?

'You want to go first, or should I?' Jamaal asked.

'I believe I will. I think that after I have spoken, you will be less dismayed about your ordeal with the police this morning.'

'You know about that.'

'Yes, Jamaal, but we've no need to worry about them any longer.' He paused for effect, and sucked again on the cigar. 'I told you I would take care of it, and I have. You see, the person who had been drawing the police ever closer to our world is now lying dead in the shed at the bottom of the garden.'

Jamaal started to the window, but he could not see the boatshed from this room. He turned back to Sebastian, stunned.

'I know!' Sebastian beamed at the look on Jamaal's face. 'I shot her myself. This evening. Just half an hour ago, in fact. I've had time for a lovely bath and to greet my guests, and all in all, I'm greatly looking forward to tonight.'

'Her? A woman?'

'Yes, yes. A female psychotherapist. She was very good, I believe. At one time, half of the Mosman tennis

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